


High As The Moon

by theherocomplex



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Apritello, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3716512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/pseuds/theherocomplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April O’Neil meets someone unexpected when she should be studying for finals – but she’s not complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the “it’s 3 am and I’m still in the library studying for finals and I’m losing my grip on reality and I think I just saw a ghost” OTP college AU prompt, and dedicated with all the love to hotmilkytea.
> 
> This is fluffy. Like, really, really fluffy. So it’s obviously not a part of the GaVG-continuity :D

It’s ten minutes to midnight, and April’s last paper – working title  _Aphra Behn: International Woman of Misery_  – is stalled out with a page left to write.

“I hate college writing,” she says, to the notes and books strewn over her table. “And I hate  _you_ ,” she says to the blinking cursor in Word. “You’re an asshole.”

The cursor doesn’t reply, just keeps blinking. April sighs and grinds the heels of her hands into her eyes. She just needs another cup of coffee, and she can pound out a little more of this bullshit, email the paper to Professor Clingman, and never have to deal with MLA formatting again.

Who the hell still uses MLA formatting, anyways?

_Someone who’s probably Satan in disguise_ , she thinks. If she scrapes a C in this class, it’ll be a miracle – words don’t click for her the way chemistry does, or biology. Even  _geometry_  clicked more than this college writing class.

Who the hell cares about Aphra Behn, anyways?

The coffee stand is only open for another five minutes, and it’s three floors down. If April sprints, she might make it there before her supply of gritty, over-priced salvation is cut off. And if that happens, this paper is never getting finished.

She yawns as she stands up, all too aware that she hasn’t showered or left the library in almost two days, and that she might – just  _might_  – smell. But the end is in sight, and twelve sweet weeks of summer break wait for her on the other side of this paper.

“I can do this,” she tells herself, then shrieks as a pair of cold, heavy hands land on her shoulders.

“Have you seen it?” someone hisses in her ear. “It was just over there, in the stacks.” One of the hands lifts from her shoulder, and a thick, green finger points into the half-dark corridor between the walls of books. “Don’t move. Just…wait and see.”

April nods, utterly bemused by the hand and the whispering – but then her brain restarts, and she realizes it’s one of the Hamato brothers, the rare campus rumor that turns out to be almost entirely accurate.

Mutant brothers.  _Four_  mutant brothers, to be precise, who used to be vigilantes and are now just…students. Because that’s what mutant vigilantes do when their enemies are gone, right? They get advanced degrees.

_“One of them’s like, translating Shakespeare into Japanese!”_

_“Yeah and then there’s the one that’s always pissed off.”_

_“And the short one who rappelled down the campus hotel!”_

_“No, the short one’s the angry one!”_

_“Anyways, there’s that genius one, he’s got like, eighteen patents already.”_

_“I heard it was twenty-seven.”_

And on and on. Sometimes April’s seen them, but only at a distance. Four massive green forms, moving in step with each other, books and backpacks incongruous in their huge hands. They keep to themselves, like most mutants, but the short angry one hangs out with one of the hockey players – or so April’s heard. She doesn’t get out much, and if not for Irma, she wouldn’t get out all, or have heard of the Hamatos to begin with.

Now one of the Hamato brothers is whispering in her ear – which brother, she has no idea, but it’s better than freaking out over her paper.

“What am I looking for?” she whispers, still staring straight ahead. “One of your brothers?”

He laughs, stirring the hair by her ear. His breath is rancid, though April’s sure hers is even worse. “Maybe, I don’t know. I – I’ve been up a while, and I thought I saw…”

“Saw what?” April prompts, when he’s silent for a few seconds.

“A ghost,” he says, miserably. “God, I’ve been awake too long. Mikey’s probably screwing with me again.”

April can’t help herself; she bursts into giggles. “A  _ghost_? Yeah, he’s messing with you.” He groans behind her, and a sudden merciful impulse makes her keep talking. “But I heard there’s one in the student union.”

He laughs again, and the sound – warm, pleasant, exhausted – makes her stomach flip-flop pleasantly. “Thanks, but I know I’ve been an idiot.” His hand falls away from her shoulder. “And…thanks for humoring me.”

“No problem.” April turns around slowly, preparing herself for – for what? Green, pebbled skin, a beak instead of a nose, three fingers instead of five? A  _shell_? It’s all there, but so are brown eyes, and a kind smile. And if the eyes are a little bloodshot, and the smile worn-out, that’s fine, because he’s not so strange, after all. He looks…friendly. Nice.

Cute. He’s  _cute._

He opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again, his eyes roving over her features. “Wow,” he says, finally. “You’ve got…really pretty eyes.”

“Oh, wow. Uh, thank you,” she says awkwardly, flushing hot and red. Dealing with catcalls and being told to smile — because no one’s ever heard of  _resting bitchface_  — hasn’t equipped her to handle with sincere compliments. She brushes her hair out of her face and tries to dredge up a winning smile despite her exhaustion. It must look horrible, because he cringes away, hands held up, palms out.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words rushing out of him. “I’m – that was weird, I’m sorry, I’ll just go, and – _Mikey! If that’s you, you’re dead!”_

He sprints off into the stacks, surprisingly fast, and disappears into the dark at the end of the corridor.

April inhales, smelling her own sweat, and papers, and old books, and cold coffee, then reaches behind her and shuts her laptop without looking. Then she follows him –  _you don’t even know his name, April, what the hell are you doing?_  – into the stacks, her footsteps echoing as she chases him down.

***

She doesn’t catch up with him so much as slam into him when she rounds a corner on the nineteenth floor too quickly. Her face collides with his chest –  _plastron_ , her mind supplies helpfully, as her nose aches from the impact – and she nearly falls flat on her ass. The only thing that keeps her standing is his arm, a very well-muscled arm, that slips around her back and holds her up.

“Whoa, you okay? Are you – oh.” He lets go of her carefully and steps away. “Sorry, I, uh, didn’t know you were following me.”

April shakes her head, trying to catch her breath. “No, don’t be, I’m sorry – I swear I’m not a creeper, I just…I have this paper, and I don’t want to finish, and…”

_Shit. He has_ really _nice eyes._ She’s thankful for the dark, which hides her second blush of the evening.

“What’s the paper on?” he asks. Because that’s how it’s done in college — you can un-awkward any situation by talking about homework. One of life’s great placebos.

“Aphra Behn, it’s for college writing, and I’m so done with that class. I just.” She waves her hands in the air, trying to figure out a non-alarming way to say  _You’re cute and I’m running on no sleep, so chasing you through the library seemed like a good idea at the time, please don’t murder me and throw my body in an elevator shaft._

“College writing,” he says, in the same tone of voice April normally uses to describe dog shit. “What a waste of time. I mean, not if you’re in the humanities, but for science majors?” He makes a disgusted noise and leans against the wall. April watches, fascinated, as the edge of his shell bends ever-so-slightly to accommodate his position. “Sorry. You didn’t follow me to get a rant. I can let you get back to work, if you want.”

“No!” April yelps. “God, I just ran after you for six stories. Do you really think I’ll go back to that paper unless someone makes me?”

He laughs, and oh  _fuck_ , he’s got a gap in his teeth.  _And_ he’s only wearing some kind of utilikilt, and a purple bandanna tied over his eyes. Which means his arms – his  _very_ well-muscled arms – are on display, along with thick calves and lean thighs, and —

April knows she’s ogling him, but he’s so  _interesting_  to look at, and he’s got the best laugh she’s heard in months.

“Okay, I won’t make you,” he says, when he’s done laughing. “Only because I’ve been there. My downfall was  _Wide Sargasso Sea_.”

“Ugh,” April says, with  _feeling_ , which sends him off into another long peal of laughter.

“Sorry, I’m a little punchy,” he says, wiping his eyes. “I feel like I’ve been awake for a week.”

“Same.” They fall silent, not entirely uncomfortable, but April watches him fidget: bouncing on his toes, rubbing the back of his head. He’s getting ready to say goodbye, and melt away back into the stacks, and she knows she won’t find him again.

_This is a bad idea,_ April tells herself. True or not, that doesn’t stop her from tapping him on the shoulder, and grinning as wide as she can when he looks up.

“You’re it,” she says, then spins around to run into the stacks. She hears him gasp, and then start to laugh, and she knows he’s following her. And he’ll catch her, of course he will – but she’s going to make him work for it.

***

He catches her just before she gets to the lobby, in the eastern stairwell. April’s more than happy to surrender; her legs are burning and her heart feels like it’s trying to beat a hole through her ribs. He doesn’t even look winded, and beams when he taps her on the head, flush with victory.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grouses, leaning down to catch her breath. “You win. But I let you, so enjoy your victory.”

“Of course you did,” he says comfortably, and leans against the wall by her side. “Thanks for going easy on me.”

“Anytime.” April draws in a deep breath, and turns her head to smile back at him. “Thanks for not making me go back to my paper.”

He ducks his head. “Well,” he says a moment later, “if it had been a chemistry lab write-up, I’d carry you back up there myself.”

“I’d never have left it had been a write-up,” she says. “That’s easy. That makes  _sense_. With literature, you can argue anything. It doesn’t matter if it’s total bullshit.”

“I know!” he says, bouncing off the wall, shyness forgotten. “My older brother, he  _loves_  this stuff. Last year, he had to read that poem, the one about the plums?  _This is just to say —”_

“—  _that I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox_ ,” April finishes, laughing. “Yeah, I’ve read it.”

“It’s just about  _fruit_ ,” he says, offended dignity in every muscle. “That’s it! Fruit! But Leo was all, _no, it’s about form, and finding beauty in the ordinary, and here’s why_. Thank god for headphones, seriously.”

April covers her mouth to hold in her giggles. “With three brothers, I bet you need them.”

“Oh, you have  _no_  idea.” He throws his hands in the air, shaking his head. “I should buy stock. Leo’s always freaking out over some new poem, and Raph’s always  _breaking_  stuff, and then there’s Mikey, who —”

“Who likes to make you think you’re seeing ghosts?” she asks, inching a little closer. Her heart is still beating fast, but she can’t rationally blame it on running any longer, so she ignores it, and tries to make out the details of his face in the low light. There are deep gouges in his plastron, the longest ones close to where his own heart might be.

_Vigilantes_ , April thinks, and shivers.

“Mikey just likes to mess with me,” he replies, darkly. “I mean, I love my brothers,” he adds immediately. “But we spent all our lives together. Sometimes, things get a little claustrophobic. I think we were glad when…things changed. It’s nice to come here. Sometimes I go up to the roof and stargaze.” He ducks his head again, wringing his hands, his cheeks flushed dark. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling. You don’t want to hear about my family.”

Ignoring her heartbeat doesn’t change the fact that April could reach out and hold his hand, if she wanted to.

“If you want to tell me, I’m happy to listen,” she says. “And stargazing sounds great. You must have an awesome view once you get above the streetlights.”

He nods, still not looking at her, and murmurs something.

“What’d you say?” she asks.

He murmurs again, sinking a little further into his shell.

“What?”

“I said, I could show you?” He looks up, eyes wide in his mask. “But it’s okay if you don’t want to, I understand. You don’t have to.”

April spends most of her time alone, except for when she’s in class, or for her Friday night dinners with Irma. It’s by choice; she doesn’t like most people, or even try to like them, but she likes  _him_ , and that’s why she grabs his hand and squeezes. Well, she manages to get her fingers around one of his, but judging by the stunned, warm look he gives her, it’s enough.

“I’d love to,” she says, her heart skipping when he smiles.

“It’s a long way to climb,” he says. “Forty-eight flights of stairs. It’d be easier if…” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and gestures at his shell with his free hand. “If I carried you?”

_He’s got even less game than I do_ , April thinks, forcing down her giggles. “This isn’t some  _Twilight_ role-play, is it?” she asks, trying to keep a straight face. “Because if you call me spider-monkey, I’m out.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes, the worry in his eyes disappearing. “So you’ve read  _Twilight_ , huh? Maybe you should’ve written your paper on that.”

“It’s a pop culture phenomenon!” April yelps. “It’s — it’s crack! You try and stop reading once you’ve started.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” He turns around, and grins, wide and cocky, over his shoulder. “Hop on.” He has a dimple.

_I’m screwed_ , April thinks as she jumps onto his back. His shell scrapes her legs a little as she adjusts her arms around his neck, but it’s nothing to complain about.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to hold on tight,” he says. “I’ll need both arms.”

“Both arms? But we’re just going up the stairs?”

He laughs. “I don’t need the  _stairs_.” Then, before April can process his dimple or how he smells like leather and ink, he’s leapt to the next flight of stairs, and the next, climbing up the center of the stairwell with nothing but his arms keeping them both from falling.

April closes her eyes and rests her head against his shoulder. Her heart keeps pounding, but she’s not scared. Not one bit.

***

“You’re cheating,” April says. When he squawks, she smirks to herself. It’s only been a few hours, but she already knows just how to get a rise out of him.

“I don’t  _cheat_ ,” he retorts. “And maybe you’d have an easier time in Clingman’s class if you admitted when you don’t know something, rather than accusing everyone of  _cheating._ ”

“There is  _no way_  you know that many constellations. You made half of them up.” She nudges his shoulder with hers. “Come on, come clean. You made them up.”

He grins and nudges her back. “Like you’d know if I did.”

For lack of a better reply – and to avoid admitting he’s right – April sticks out her tongue.

“Wow,  _very_  mature.” But he’s still smiling, soft and shy, and when their hands touch, he doesn’t pull away. They’ve spent the last hour inching closer together as they counted stars, and April hasn’t minded one bit.

He smiles when he looks at her.

April doesn’t even know his name.

“Sun’s rising,” he says. “A couple years ago, we’d just be heading home now. Then a shower, bed, and up for training by noon.” He sighs, staring out over the city. “It’s nice to actually  _see_ a sunrise.”

“How’d you guys…” April says, then shakes her head. “Sorry. I don’t want to pry.”

“How’d we end up here?” he says. “It’s a long story. Not interesting.” His posture closes up, and he ducks his head. “We just…”

“Hey.” April lays her hand on top of his. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. That was rude of me.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s just…everyone wants to know. They’re not really interested in us, just an idea. Superhero mutants in college! I don’t blame them. It sounds great when you put it like that.”

It does, but not the way that April cares about. What she cares about is how the last few weeks of stress have fallen off her shoulders, how she doesn’t feel tired at all, how she’s actually happy. She feels  _safe._

“It definitely gives you an advantage in tag,” she says, hoping for a laugh, and only getting a wry smile in reply. “I’ll get you next time.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says. “You up for round two?”

April leans against the ventilation shaft behind them and sighs. “Maybe after my legs stop feeling like jello. Seriously, I’m still wiped out from earlier, and I didn’t Tarzan up a billion steps. How are you ready to go?”

He shrugs. The motion makes his mask tails fall over one shoulder, and April feels a wicked impulse to tug it away from his eyes and finally get a good look at him. She keeps her hand where it is, right on top of his. “Training. And it’s a side benefit of…” He gestures at his body, not looking at her. “Not a whole ton of those floating around, so I guess I should take what I can get, right?”

“It was awesome.” April squeezes his hand. “Seriously  _awesome_. I can’t believe you carried me all that way.”

He shrugs again. “You’re not that heavy,” he says, then twitches. “I mean, not that I’m complaining! Or that I’m saying there’s anything wrong with you, or your body, and oh, wow, that sun is really something, huh? Can you believe that’s one big chemical reaction?” His hand curls into a fist under hers, his muscles rigid.

“Smooth transition,” she says, gently. “How about you stop worrying for thirty seconds?”

A humorless little laugh is the only reply she gets for a long time, until his hand relaxes and opens, turning to cradle her fingers in his palm.

“That’s kind of my job,” he says. “I do the worrying, Leo does the planning, then Raph and Mikey smash stuff until the problem goes away. Or we did.”

There’s a whole lifetime behind his words, and April wonders, briefly, what it’s like to be here, with all the other weirdos, forced into the daylight. She wants to ask, but her curiosity can wait.

One question, though, she should ask, before they have to go back to the rest of their lives and admit the night has ended.

“So you’re the worrier,” she says. “But you're…?” She lets the question trail off, a space open for his name.

“Me?” He frowns at her, then comprehension dawns. “Oh! Donatello. Mikey calls me D sometimes, but everyone else just goes with —”

“Donnie,” April says, sure of herself for no reason. Of course it’s an easy name to guess, but his smile is surprised and pleased.

“Yeah, Donnie. But you can call me whatever you want, I don’t —”

“I’m April,” she says, to forestall the inevitable babbling.  _Why are you still freaking out?_ she asks him silently.  _I’m here. I’m not leaving._

“That’s a…” he smiles. “April. That’s a pretty name.”

“Well,” she says, smiling back, “it’s actually Aprillette Rosemary Ludwilla Elvira O'Neil, but that’s a mouthful, so April works.”

Donnie gapes at her, his mouth working, until she bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, I’m  _kidding_. Any parents who named their kid  _Aprillette_  should be shot.”

He laughs back a moment later, his eyes falling to their linked hands. “Yeah, well, you’re talking to a guy whose father named him  _Donatello_ , so I think I have you beat.”

“I think it’s nice,” April says. “It’s old-fashioned. But I like Donnie too.”

“Well, as long as you like it,” he says, with a soft, crooked smile.

They fall into another one of the silences that keep cropping up, and the lack of talking still isn’t uncomfortable. Anything but, really. This may not have been where April expected her night to go, hours of tag and giggling in the stacks followed by stargazing and holding hands _, holy shit_ , but she doesn’t regret a moment of it. She doesn’t even regret the way she doomed her grade in college writing on a whim, because this is the first time all year she’s actually been able to stop being  _angry_.

_For two people who have absolutely no game_ , she thinks,  _we’re doing okay._

Donnie starts a little when she rests her head on his shoulder, then leans his cheek on the top of his head.

“I'm…I’m really glad I thought I saw a ghost,” Donnie says. His thumb rubs the inside of her wrist, then pauses. April can feel him gathering strength to push through the next few words, taking a deep breath before diving in. “If — and it’s totally understandable if you don’t, but…do you want to —”

The campus clocks rings, drowning out Donnie’s question. April jolts upright, the world crashing into place around them, with all her responsibilities bearing down on her again.

“Oh,  _shit_ , it’s seven.” Her anxiety comes flooding back, the taste of old coffee filling her mouth. “I’ve got a final in an hour, and I have to email in that paper.” She meets Donnie’s gaze. “I’m – I’ve got to go, I’m sorry. I don’t want to, but… _shit._ ”

She means it – she wants to stay here and watch the sun come up, and get  _real_  coffee, and hear the rest of what Donnie had to say – but after a moment when his face falls, he just smiles again, sad and resigned, and gives her hand a squeeze.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I – good luck on your finals. You’ll do great.”

April squeezes his hand back, unable to speak. She just looks at him, warm brown eyes, sad smile, and memorizes him. It can’t be done this quickly. She won’t let it.

_This isn’t a movie, April. You have work to do. Stop wasting time._

“Rain check on round two?” she finally manages. “Meet you back here, when I’m done with my final?”

His smile turns even sadder. “Sure,” he says. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll be back,” she promises. “I’m sorry, but —”

Donnie keeps smiling, quiet and sad, and doesn’t say another word as he watches her walk away.

“See you soon,” she says at the door, looking back and hoping, hoping he believes her.

“Bye,” he says, as the door closes behind her.

***

April makes it to her final with five minutes to spare, and she wonders the whole time she’s conjugating Spanish verbs if Donnie’s still on the roof.

She runs the whole way back, but he’s gone when she gets there, sunlight filling the empty space.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like _[that other fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1250032)_ I wrote about Donnie, April, and a roof, this is a three-parter :D

Irma yanks the carton of fried rice out of April's hands and drops it on the table. 

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" April yelps when she reaches out to grab it back and Irma slaps her hand away. "Irma, _what the hell_?" 

"It's time to come clean, O'Neil," Irma says calmly. She pauses the movie, then leans back against the arm of the sofa and nudges April's thigh with her foot. "You're even worse company than usual, and since your _usual_ sucks, I demand answers." 

"Wow, thanks, I really want to tell you everything now." April tosses her chopsticks to the table. "Why are you sticking around then? Masochistic instincts? A death wish?" 

Irma sighs. "It's how I'm building up good karma. I'm protecting everyone else from having to deal with you." Her nudges turn into kicks, almost hard enough to leave bruises. "Seriously. You've been a shit for the past two weeks. What's bugging you?" 

Underneath all the teasing and insults, there's genuine concern. April picks at the fraying edge of a cushion, weighing her options. Not that she has a lot: the truth, or a lie. The truth is too embarrassing, but there's a seventy-five percent chance that Irma will sniff out a lie, and then April will be stuck telling the truth anyways. That's the problem with living with your best friend, who's been your best friend since you were four years old. They know _everything._  

"You know how I got the C in Clingman's class?" she begins, on the off-chance Irma will chalk it up to bad grades and leave it be. 

"Uh, yeah, and you're lucky as hell he had pity on you. Come on, don't try and play it off like you've been bummed over _grades_. Especially not College Writing." Irma pushes her glasses up on her nose and grins at April, lop-sided. "I'm just trying to check up on you. Don't make it so hard." 

"I'm getting there," April says. "It's just…it's really stupid. I met this guy —" 

"Oh my god, it's a _guy_." Irma flings herself off the couch in the direction of the kitchen. "At last! A normal problem! I can deal with this. Let me get the provisions." 

"We've got dinner right here." April laughs. "Irma, come on, before I change my mind." 

A cabinet door in the kitchen bangs open, then closed, punctuated with the rattling of glasses. "You're not changing your goddamn mind. I've been _waiting_ for this moment." Irma sweeps back into the living room, balancing two mugs and a bottle of wine. "Women's Studies major be damned, we are drinking wine and talking about _boys_." She flops back onto the couch and hands April one of the mugs before yanking out the cork and filling both mugs. "Okay. Cheers. Let's give it up for traditional gender roles. Spill." 

April nearly chokes on her first mouthful of wine when her laughter bubbles up her throat. "You're going to make me _choke_ , Irma. Let me breathe." She takes a smaller sip, swirling the wine around her mouth. "How'd you get not-shitty wine? We're nineteen." 

"Stole it from one of my cousins' birthday parties." Irma knocks back half her mug in a swallow, then props her feet on April's lap and smiles. "So, you met a guy." 

"The last night of finals," April says. She stares at her wine, gooseflesh prickling the back of her neck. It's been so hard not to think about that night — _and sunrise,_ she reminds herself — but thinking about what happened means thinking about how it ended, and the cold, humiliated disappointment that swept over her when she got back to the roof and Donnie was gone. And she can't help feeling like she's over-reacting — it's not like they kissed. They just talked, and held hands. It's stupid to still be worked up over this, two weeks later. 

She can't help it. 

"I was working on that stupid paper, and this guy just grabbed me — no, not like that, Irma, calm down — and asked me if I had seen a ghost." She smiles, her reflection in the dark wine smiling back. "Turns out it was just his brother being an ass, but we…" She swallows, remembering the way her stomach dropped when he jumped for the first landing. 

"Oh no, April." She looks up to find Irma staring at her, eyes wide and sympathetic. "You…you didn't have sex in the library, did you? Because I mean, you do you, but the library? It's nasty as _hell_." 

"No, Jesus, we didn't have sex." April lets her head fall onto the back of the sofa and closes her eyes. "We played tag, and then we sat on the roof and stargazed." 

"That's…somehow worse," says Irma. 

"Be _serious_." April groans. "I already feel dumb enough." 

"Okay, serious face on. So what happened? Tag and stargazing sounds pretty awesome." 

April briefly cracks one eye open — and yes, Irma does have her serious face on. She sighs and licks her lips. "We held hands." 

"And…?" 

"I think he was about to ask me to hang out later, or something, but then it was seven in the morning, and I had an exam to get to and a paper to turn in." April takes a long drink of her wine, hoping the taste will wash away some of the bitterness in her mouth. No such luck. "So I told him I was sorry, and I asked him to meet me there when my exam was done. But when I went back…" 

He hadn't been there. 

She swallows another mouthful of wine, and feels Irma shift to refill her mug without being asked. One of the best things about Irma is that she knows when to shut up, and she knows to stay quiet now. If April has to deal with questions, she'll never finish this stupid, stupid story. "He didn't wait. I mean, I'm freaking out over nothing, right? It's not like he broke an actual _date_ , or we had any real plans, but…" 

"It was shitty of him to leave," says Irma. April nods, her quiet misery cresting in her chest. "But, maybe he had to be somewhere?" 

"I guess. I don't know." She rubs her eyes. When she left, she said _see you soon_ , and Donnie said _bye._ It hadn't occurred to her at the time, but there's a world of difference between those two farewells. "Maybe I should have figured that would happen. It's not like —" 

"I'm going to stop you right there." Irma kicks April's leg. "That shit is self-defeating. I may call you an asshole, but _you_ don't get to call you an asshole." 

April laughs, and finally opens her eyes as she smiles at Irma. "I guess I should say thanks for that?" 

Irma shrugs. "Probably. But it doesn't matter." She finishes off her mug, then sets it aside and leans forward, her face close to April's. "You got this guy's name, right? You didn't forget that much?" 

"He'd be pretty hard to miss even if I didn't get his name." April starts to lift her mug, then puts it on the table instead. It's a mark of how invested Irma is in this conversation that she hasn't yelled about coasters once. 

"Okay, so, you've got his name. Did you look him up on Facebook?" 

"If he's got one, it's private. His brothers are on Facebook, though." 

Irma nods. "But it's not like you can message them, I get it. No school email?" 

"You really think I'm going to email him on his _school_ email? What would I say? 'Hey, it's April, that girl you didn't wait for. How's it going?’" April can hear how angry, how petty, she sounds, and steps on her temper. "It's not that big a deal, Irma. I'll get over it." 

"Yeah, I know you will, but you're sad _now_. And since you're usually the suck-it-up kind, I have to enjoy this while it lasts. Or, you know, help you out." 

April closes her eyes as they start to sting. "You're the best," she says, her voice a little rough, and leans her head on Irma's shoulder. "I'm sorry I've been such a jerk."

"Don't worry about it. I've got a high tolerance." Irma swings her legs off April's lap, and twists so her arm wraps around April's shoulder. "If it's got you this bummed out, then you obviously like this guy. Who is he? Maybe I know him." 

Moment of truth. April takes a deep breath. "Donnie Hamato." She cringes, waiting for Irma's reaction, whatever it may be, but all she hears is a thoughtful little hum. 

"The genius, huh?" Irma pulls her arm off April's shoulders, and props her chin on her fist. "I haven't met him, but I had a couple classes with one of his brothers. Leo. I hear Donnie's nice. Like, nice, not _fedora_ nice."

April snickers. "You mean like half of the guys on campus?" 

Irma rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. "Why our school had to get infested by bronies, I will never know. But no, I hear Donnie's a good guy. You know, from like, friends of friends, but no one ever says the Hamatos are dicks. So…" 

"So what?" 

"So it doesn't make sense that he'd just take off. Maybe he had to leave, April." Irma's mouth flattens into a thin line, and April knows what she's going to say before it comes out of her mouth. "Or…maybe he just wasn't that interested. It sucks, but it's possible." 

"Yeah, it is." April grabs the wine and pours herself another mugful. "It was just…a really nice night. He was nice. I know, I'm being stupid, getting all worked up over this, but I don't — it was just a really good night." She feels her eyes start to prickle again, and drinks the entire mug to cover it. "Okay. I get to be upset tonight, and then I'm getting over it. I don't want to waste my summer being — being _sad_ over someone I don't even know." 

"Hey. You're not being stupid." Irma pulls the mug out of her hands and hugs her, their cheeks pressed together. "This sucks. I'm sorry."

April nods, her throat closed tight, and finally does what she hasn't for two weeks. Her tears make hot tracks on her cheeks, but Irma hugs her till the storm is over. 

*** 

April's tempted to go back to the roof of the library — because of nostalgia, because of a still-lingering hope that Donnie will be there, smiling his sweet, hopeful smile — but she never does. As hard as it is to resist the impulse, she doesn't want to face getting to the roof to find no one there, not even pigeons. 

She can't help looking for him on her walk to her summer job at Trader Joe's, or when she walks their neighbor's corgis. Green skin and a purple mask would stand out, even in New York, but she never sees Donnie. Once, she thinks she sees him, but it's one of his brothers, red-masked, hollering at a laughing, gangly kid outside a bakery. She almost stops — almost. 

It's not a bad summer, on balance. When April looks back, halfway through August, she realizes she actually had fun. Trips up to the farm to visit her mom and dad, a long weekend in Montreal with Irma, a few baseball games. She even hung out with people who weren’t Irma, and liked it. 

Not a bad summer, not at all. 

The night before classes start up for the semester, April finds herself lying awake, one hand clenched in her sheets, and thinking about Donnie. She drops everything she knows about him into a pile, and her heart aches when she sees how small it is. One night. Barely seven hours, and yet here she is, still holding on. The O'Neils are a stubborn family, but hanging on to this handful of memories is verging on desperate. The smart thing to do would be to stop looking for Donnie, and start looking at everyone else around her — to date, to experiment, to find out who she likes, and what she wants. 

The problem is, she already knows. And if a summer wasn't long enough to get over it, what does that say about her? 

She rolls onto her belly, and watches the numbers on her alarm clock count down slowly till she has to get up. 

*** 

Her sleepless night leaves her in a foul mood for her entire first day. And she forgets her lunch, and her metro pass, and her phone, so by the time she gets to her last class of the day, April's exhausted and furious. She slumps into a seat in the second row of tables in the chem lab, glowering at anyone who comes near her, and yanks out her laptop while she waits for the rest of the class to filter in. When the door closes and the class goes quiet, she doesn't look up, and keeps smiling at the pictures of her dad in his garden. 

"Okay then," says a voice from the front of the room. "Well, uh, normally I'd have a big welcome speech planned, but none of you look like you're up to dealing with it, so let's just get through the syllabus and you guys can get out of here." 

April goes cold all over, staring at her screen without blinking. _Fuck everything_ , she thinks, her blood roaring in her ears. _My life does not suck this much._

Her life definitely does suck that much. When she finally drags her eyes away from her laptop, there's Donnie at the head of the classroom, handing out the syllabus with a slight, thoughtful frown on his face. 

"I think I made enough…" he says, more to himself than the students, then turns back to his desk and starts digging through a beat-up leather satchel. 

April slowly closes her laptop. Any second now, he's going to see her, and she isn't sure what would be worse: if he recognized her, and looked away, or if he didn't recognize her at all. She came to terms with the fact that whatever the night meant, she had overestimated, but to not be seen at all — 

She balls her hands into fists under the table, and waits. 

And watches. 

He's still wearing his mask and the utilikilt, and his skin is a bright, healthy green under the fluorescent lights. But instead nothing covering his torso, there's a bizarrely conservative sweater vest stretched over his shell — argyle print and everything — and a neatly knotted bow tie around his neck. It's like he did his best to look the part of a professor, as much as his anatomy would allow. In theory, it should look ridiculous, but it doesn't. He doesn't. 

Donnie looks good. Really good. Even better, he looks right at home at the head of the class, confident and happy. 

"I'm not going to bother taking attendance today," he says, handing off another few syllabi to the front row. "But just so you're aware, attendance is a big part of your grade. Miss three classes or more, and you start losing points — half a grade every extra unexcused absence. It's all on the syllabus, so let's get started. I'm Donatello Hamato, I'm the TA for this section of the course, and —" 

Donnie's gaze meets April's, and the rest of his sentence disappears. Too late, April realizes she's beaming at him, like a total idiot, but she can't look away, and she can't stop smiling. 

_Here it comes,_ she thinks as Donnie blinks, his mouth hanging open. _He's going to act like he's never seen me before._ Her stomach drops.

Donnie regains his composure almost instantly, but a dark flush spreads over his cheeks and — he smiles. No, he _beams_ right back at her, eyes bright, and the shuffling of papers and the sound of her classmates murmuring drop away. 

They don't look at each other for more than three seconds, and Donnie's back on track in half that time, leading them through the syllabus, but it's long enough to leave her flushed and her cheeks aching from smiling. 

She ducks her head and hides behind her hair, ignoring the whispers around her — yes, they were obvious, because they have no game and he's _here_ , Donnie is ten feet away from her and he's still smiling. He might even be stumbling over reading the syllabus. 

_Oh my god,_ she thinks, shivering and all too aware of the gazes pointed in her direction. _Oh my god oh my god oh my god._

How she gets through the rest of class, she doesn't know. Donnie lets the class go as soon as they're done going over the syllabus, and they leave in a whispering crowd, a few people glancing over their shoulders. April takes her time packing up, making a show of looking around her seat to make sure she hasn't forgotten anything — a show that fools no one, she's sure. 

But it does its job; it keeps her in the room until everyone else is gone, and she's alone with Donnie. 

Their gazes meet over the desks again, and April waits. It's up to him now. 

"Hey, April," he says, shifting a little, gripping the strap of his satchel with both hands. No sign of his smile lingers on his face; he's serious, frowning, chewing on his lip. "I…how are you?"

"I'm good." She folds her arms over her chest to hide her shivers, realizing too late how closed-off she must look. "I didn't know you were teaching this section. I thought it was just grad students who ran the labs." 

_Small talk. Great work, April._

"Last-minute development," he says, shrugging until the fabric of his ridiculous vest is bunched up around his shoulders. "I'm working with Doctor Stone this year. I think she put in a good word for me." 

"Oh. Nice." April winces. _Nice. That's all I've got to say?_ "Well," she adds, when Donnie doesn't say anything else, and she can't hold his gaze any longer. "I should —" 

"I'm so sorry," Donnie blurts out. "I — I freaked out. I should have stayed, I mean, I _wanted_ to stay, but I just…I freaked out. I'm sorry, April."

Of all the things she thought he might say, an apology wasn't in the top ten. Excuses, evasions — she was ready for them, but not Donnie being _sorry._ April's first instinct is to say that it's fine, to smile and shrug it off, but her inner Irma screams in protest. She sets her bag down on her desk with a sigh. "I'm sure you had a good reason," she says, wincing at how calm she sounds. How can she sound like she doesn't care, when her heart is pounding and Donnie is watching her with huge, dark eyes? 

"I didn't," he says, and blows out a long, shuddery breath. "I thought…I worried that you would think I'm…" 

"That you're what?" She frowns as Donnie slumps down, eyes hooded, and jerks a thick thumb at himself. Then comprehension hits, and she inhales sharply. "What? Oh, Donnie. No. God, no. That doesn't matter." 

Only a second passes before she's suddenly horrified at how easily she dismissed what must be the central anxiety of his life. "I'm sorry. It matters, but not the way you're worried about. I promise." April swallows, and forces herself to say what she's been feeling. "It's good to see you." Her voice catches on the last word. "Like, really good, Donnie." 

"Is there a way to make it up to you?" Donnie asks, his voice quieter with every word. "I'm sorry, April, I really am, and I totally get it if you're mad, but…I had a really great time." 

April feels another blush flooding her cheeks. She's starting to think Donnie only has two settings — earnest, and super-earnest — but there's no doubting him now. He means it. He's sorry, and he wants to fix things. How she knows this doesn't matter. She just trusts her gut, and smiles up at him. 

"I'm not mad," she says. "Promise. I wish you had stayed, because when I got there after my exam…" Her voice falters, but she makes herself smile through it, even when he flinches. "It's fine. I understand. Well, not _really,_ I know I can't, but it's all fine."

"Do you want to get dinner?" Donnie blurts out. He bites his lip, seemingly shocked at what just came out of his mouth, then forges ahead. "I'm sorry, this is really sudden, and I know I don't have any right to ask, but do you? Want to get dinner? With me, specifically, not just in general. You can say no, I'll understand, and I won't bug you if you say —" 

"Oh my god, _yes_ ," April says, her heart stopping for a split second as an impossible urge to laugh comes over her. "Dinner sounds awesome." 

Donnie's silent for a split second, so sweetly astonished that April nearly leaps over the desk to kiss him, and then he grins again, the same grin he wore on the roof. "That's so great," he says, and oh, how he _means_ it. "When do you want to go?" 

"How about now?" The same reckless impulse that made her go sprinting off into the stacks after him seizes April again, and yes, now, they need to go _now_. She's waited three months for this second chance. "I'm free." 

"Yes!" Donnie yelps, then, "Wait. It's just four in the afternoon, isn't that too early?" 

"It'll take us an hour to get off campus and go anywhere good," she says. "Unless you'd rather wait?" 

"No." Donnie takes a deep breath, and holds out his hand. "No, let's go. I know just the place." 

She slips her hand into his, blushing and full of loose, unsteady laughter. Her exhaustion is gone, completely forgotten, as soon as his fingers curl around hers. 


	3. Chapter 3

"Well," says Donnie, then coughs nervously. April glances up — and _up_ — to find him smiling a little sheepishly as he nods at a tiny diner, tucked between a toy store and a dry cleaners. "This is it." 

She's done nothing but smile since they left the classroom an hour ago, and she doesn't stop now. The diner looks like the Platonic ideal of diners, with a cheerful neon sign hanging over the door and bright chrome fixtures everywhere she looks. This is the diner all other diners wish they could be. 

"April?" She realizes she's been staring into space silently when Donnie gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "If you'd rather go somewhere else — I just figured, this has tons of stuff, and you'd find something you wanted to eat, and…" 

"It's great," she says, and turns the full force of her smile on him. Right now, _everything_ is great. "Seriously." 

"Oh. Good. Great." Donnie clears his throat, and twitches his bow tie back into place. "I hope you like it. It's got the best coffee — you drink coffee, right? Or are you more of a tea person? Anyways, it's got great coffee, and they serve breakfast all day, and their pie is _amazing_." 

"All of that sounds fantastic," April says over her stomach's rumbling, thinking of her forgotten lunch back home in the fridge. "But honestly, I'm so hungry I could eat the sidewalk." 

Donnie throws back his head and laughs far louder than the joke deserves, loud enough that half the people around them stare. He doesn't care, and after a quick flash of _what the hell are you looking at_ , because April was born and will die in New York, she stops caring too. 

She found Donnie again. Everything else — her forgotten lunch, phone, and metro card, her sleepless night — fades far into the background. 

He lets go of her hand long enough to bound up the stairs and hold the door open for her. "After you," he says, sweeping one arm across his plastron in a flourish. April tries to mock-bow and trips over the rug, but Donnie's heavy hand steadies her. "Careful," he says, with a fond, wayward grin. "I've got you." 

"You certainly do," April says, inanely, inwardly writhing over how stupid she looks. "Thanks." 

"No problem." Donnie leads her toward a booth in the back, his steps too assured for him to have picked the seat at random. No, this is a place Donnie's been before, and often. April feels her embarrassment melting away under the pleasure of being shown this, one of Donnie's treasures. After all, that's what this is. That's what this has to be, a little quiet jewel hidden away from the rest of the city, where he can get some peace away from his brothers. Maybe he does his studying here, drinking cup after cup of coffee and — 

Maybe she's getting ahead of herself. 

"So, you're a regular?" she asks as they fold themselves into the vinyl seats. Donnie nods, but he doesn't get a chance to reply before a brassy foghorn of a voice, the kind of voice that should come accompanied with bleached-blonde hair and red lipstick, breaks in. 

"Donnie boy, a regular? We'd charge this kid rent if he didn't eat as much as he does." 

Donnie flushes dark, his mouth screwed up into a grudging half-smile. "Hey, Sandy." 

"Hey, yourself." Like the diner itself produced her from thin air, the waitress appears at their table. "Early today, huh? We don't usually see you till eight or so." 

Donnie shrugs, still flushed. "I, uh, wanted to — this is April. April, Sandy." 

"Hey," says April, unsure if she should shake hands or just smile. Luckily Sandy doesn't seem to mind her indecision, and turns her smile on April. 

"Nice to meet you. You a friend of Donnie's?" 

It's a simple question, and it only needs a simple answer. Across the table, Donnie looks up, eyes wide and hopeful, and April finds herself grinning again. 

"Sort of," she says. "Yes." 

"Sort-of- _yes_ ," Sandy says, dragging out the words, winking at April. "So more than friends, then?" 

"Atta boy, Donnie!" someone hollers from the kitchen. Donnie flushes even darker, color spreading down his neck and under his plastron, and covers his face in his hands. 

"We'll get back to you on that," April says, on another wave of recklessness. "I'll keep you informed." 

Sandy cackles as she drops a menu to the table. "Yeah, you do that. I'll be back in a few. Drinks?" 

"Water for me, thanks," says April, as a muffled _me too_ leaks from under Donnie's hands. 

*** 

By the time their food arrives, April is halfway in love with Donnie. She's not sure if it's his laugh that did her in, or the way he talks about his family — gently exasperated, with a steady current of loyalty beneath his words — but there it is, that simple, that easy. 

They order once, but somehow the food keeps coming, in greasy profusion. French fries, onion rings, enormous burgers dripping with ketchup and mustard and melted cheese, milkshakes, even a plate of nachos all make their way to their table, until April sneaks away to the bathroom to undo the button on her jeans, and to catch her breath. 

Washing her hands in the cracked sink, she catches sight of her face in the mirror, and shuts off the water to stare. Pink cheeks, bright eyes, a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. 

 _So this is what I look like when I'm happy_ , she thinks, shaking her hands to dry them. _Too bad I can't take a picture and send it to Irma. Just to memorialize it._

But she can't, and anyways time spent taking a picture could be spent eating, and with Donnie, so she grins at her reflection one last time and heads back to the table. 

"Okay," she says as she slides into her seat, trying not to blush and failing when Donnie grins at her with unalloyed pleasure. "Let me see if I've got this straight. Raph's got the red mask, Leo's blue, and Mikey's orange." 

"You got it." Donnie stretches his arms across the back of the booth and sighs, a deep, satisfied sigh. April tries — really, she does — not to stare. "Now you can't forget who's who. We're color-coded." 

April laughs, louder than she means to, and claps her hands over her mouth. "I won't forget you," she says through her hands, then looks away, her stomach dropping. She's heard about putting too bare a face on how you feel, but why bother hiding anything? Why be cool? She isn't cool, she never has been. She's _April_ , angry and too honest, but she's not ashamed of that, and she doesn't think Donnie will be either. 

Donnie touches her wrist gently; he seems to be on the edge of saying something back — something important, something April very much wants to hear, so she leans over their empty plates to hear — 

— and then Sandy reappears, smirking as April and Donnie both jump. " _So_ ," she says. "You kids want dessert? Or did you do enough damage?" 

April glances at the table, wondering briefly how many orders of fries they ended up eating. "I'm up for it," she says, thoughts of pie dancing through her head. "Donnie?" 

He starts a little. "Uh, maybe? I didn't think —" 

Sandy sighs, loud and put-upon but still smirking, then drops a dessert menu to the table. "You two figure it out, I'll be back in a few," she says as she picks up an armful of dishes and walks away. 

"Got to love places where the food comes with a side of verbal abuse," April says. Then she sees the words _apple pecan pie_ just above _white chocolate mousse_ , and her mind goes blank. Pie. Diner pie. She's in heaven.  

"Oh, this is _nothing_ ," Donnie says. "You think this is abuse? I'm surprised they haven't told me I'm too skinny and need to eat more." 

April raises an eyebrow and gives the rest of the dishes piled at the end of their table a doubtful look. Donnie shrugs, a motion that does _very_ interesting things to his biceps. 

"Yeah, I don't know either. See anything good?" 

"Oh, god, _everything_." April sighs. "I'd eat everything they've got. But…I think I'm going with the mousse. That apple pecan sounds amazing, though." 

"You _could_ get both," Donnie says, wriggling his eyebrows — such as they are. "Live it up, April." 

She laughs and shakes her head. "Yeah, only if you feel like rolling me home. I'm not sure even one slice is a good idea." 

"I could always carry you again," he offers, then ducks his head. April bites the inside of her cheek; she already knows what's coming next — a blush, a stammered apology — and Donnie doesn't disappoint. "Wow, that was — I'm sorry, I'm presuming a lot, and —" 

"I'm going to have the mousse," April says firmly. She reaches out and rests her hand on Donnie's wrist. His skin is cool, and thicker than she remembers. "It's okay," she says, in a softer voice that won't carry past the booth. "If I didn't want you to say things like that, I wouldn't be here." 

Donnie nods, staring at her face like this is the first time he's seen her. "Thank you," he whispers, and covers her hand with his. 

When Sandy reappears, they're still touching, and still staring at each other without saying a word. April orders the mousse, Donnie orders the apple pecan, and Sandy — for once — brings the food without comment. Maybe it's that obvious; maybe she just wants to go cackle in the kitchen with her coworkers. April doesn't care. 

The pie is every bit as delicious as she thought it would be, the mousse melting away on her tongue as soon as she tastes it, but Donnie only takes two tiny bites before he sighs dramatically, rubbing his stomach and stretching. 

"Wow, I'm _stuffed_ ," he says. "Would you…uh, like some?" He pushes the plate toward April, grinning, then _winks_. 

With both eyes. 

And that's it, that's all it takes — forget halfway, April's all the way there. She's fallen. It's done. 

*** 

Donnie blinks at her, silent for what feels like a week. "You want me to…come up?" he says, in a small voice. "To your apartment?" 

"Uh," April says, staring at her feet. Is this where she messes everything up? It feels like where she messes everything up, down to the blank incredulity in Donnie's eyes. "You don't have to, I just thought…" She shrugs, hoping Irma has some more wine hidden somewhere in the apartment, because if the next few minutes go the way she thinks they will, she's going to need it. 

"I just thought it'd be fun to hang out more," she finishes lamely. "That's all. But it's cool, it's getting late." 

"Not that late," says Donnie. "I just didn't expect — yes. Yes, I would love to." He even sounds like he means it, smiling and giving April an almost _glowing_ look — but of course he means it, because Donnie only has two settings. 

"Okay." She turns back to the door to hide her own smile, and twists the key in the lock. "Just a warning — my roommate might be home, but she's cool. She's just…" 

"I think the word you used at dinner was 'intense'," Donnie says, holding the door open until April is in the foyer. "Don't worry, I can handle intense. You should meet Leo. Man, when Space Heroes got cancelled, he went _nuts._ " 

"Did he write sad fanfiction to deal with his feelings?" There's just enough room on the stairs for them to walk side-by-side, and their hands find each other so easily that April barely notices. 

"He did! We all pretended not to know, until he started leaving browsers open with his new chapters right there." Donnie shakes his head. "Not his smartest plan. He stopped after Mikey and Raph acted out some of his scenes, but he's still writing." 

April glances at him from the corner of her eye. "How do you know?" 

"I, uh. Well, I proofread them for him." He nudges her as she cackles. "Oh, come on, it's not like I'm _writing_ fanfic." 

"No, of course not," April says soothingly. She pats his shoulder. "You're just aiding and abetting." 

His squawk echoes through the hallway as she fits her key into the lock and opens the door. "I'll have you know that transformative works are an important part of media culture," he says, in lofty, oh-so-professorial tones. "And it's not like Leo's _bad_ , just a little melodramatic." 

"So reading fanfiction is okay, but you draw the line at writing it? Slippery slope, Donnie — oh, hi, Irma." 

Her roommate twitches and shuts off Project Runway — which she'll deny watching till her dying day — before turning to face them. "Oh, hey April — and April's very tall friend." 

Donnie hovers in the doorway, waving awkwardly, until April takes his hand and tugs him inside. "Irma, this is — this is Donnie Hamato. He's the TA for my chem lab, and we got dinner, and decided to come back here to hang out." _And please be cool, Irma, because if you fuck this up for me I will set you on fire._

She really should have known better; Irma takes one look at April, and how she still hasn't let go of Donnie's hand, and smiles. April relaxes. She knows all of Irma's smiles, and this isn't the one she saves for people who don't tip or who declaw their cats, and it's definitely not the one she uses on guys who say _but not all men_. Irma's going to be more than cool. She's going to be _awesome._

"Donnie Hamato, huh?" she says, standing up and walking around the couch. "I had a couple of classes with one of your brothers. Leo. He was pretty cool." She holds out her hand, each finger tipped with teal nail polish and half an armful of bracelets clattering at her wrist. "Nice to meet you. You're a TA?" 

April watches Donnie shake Irma's hand, nodding and smiling politely, if a little bemused. And of course bemusement suits him just as well as every other expression, because it's Donnie.

She's starting to understand that Donnie isn't just nice, he's _good_. 

"— to Dr. Stone," Donnie is saying when April manages to tune back in. "But sorry, enough about me — what's your major?" 

This time, Irma's smile is sharp, and very hungry, the kind of smile that makes April think of tiny creatures that can bite straight down to the bone. "Women's Studies," she says sweetly. "With minors in French and Poli Sci." 

"Nice." Donnie nods. "Wait, Poli Sci? Were you in Professor Arlen's seminar on pre-1850 American politics, two semesters ago? I think my brother Mikey was in that class." 

"Yeah, I was — wait!" Irma claps a hand over her mouth. "Oh my god, he was such a little shit. Sorry, but no, really, he was. Every time Arlen tried to make a point, he'd raise his hand and be all, _but what would our founding fathers have to say about that_?" 

April snickers, then freezes and glances at Donnie to gauge his reaction. He's smiling, a touch of exasperation — not quite so gentle now — in his eyes. "Yeah," he says, and sighs. "That sounds like Mikey." 

"I mean, it was _hilarious_ , but you'd think Arlen would've learned not to take the bait." Irma laughs. "Well, anyways, I actually have to duck out really quick. We need to get some stuff at the market." 

"What stuff? Irma, I just went grocery shopping this weekend, we should be all set." April sets her backpack down next to the couch, then holds out her hand for Donnie's satchel. "Here, let me take it." 

"Just a few things," Irma says, already shrugging into a hoodie and grabbing her purse. "You need anything? No? Donnie? Okay, I'll be back in a few. Nice to meet you!" She sails toward the door, then turns at the last second to flash April two thumbs up behind Donnie's shell. 

 _So that's what a wingman is_ , April thinks, as the door clicks closed and leaves her alone in her apartment with Donnie. 

She summons the rest of her courage, and spreads her arms wide. "So, welcome to my home base," she says, wincing as soon as the words are out of her mouth. _Home base. I actually said that. Oh my god, this is a disaster. I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people._ "Do you -- can I get you anything? Do you want a seat?" 

_I'm going to drown myself in the bathtub_ , she thinks, her face flaming hot. But Donnie just shakes his head as he looks around the room, one corner of his mouth quirking upward. 

"No, I'm good." He turns slowly, still smiling. "This is...pretty great. Lots of room." 

"Yeah, we're lucky," April says, all too happy to follow his lead. "Like, really lucky. As long as we keep our scholarships, our parents pay our rent. We still have to pay for utilities, but..." She follows Donnie's gaze as it moves over the living room and kitchen: the threadbare rug that took two hours to haul up the stairs, the mismatched bowls and plates scattered on every flat surface. 

She should have cleaned last night, since she couldn't sleep, but it's too late now. "Sorry about the mess," she says, toeing a sports bra under the sofa. 

"Are you kidding?" he scoffs. "This is a _million_  times better than where I live. Three brothers, remember? Mikey's got old pizza under his bed that's developing language skills." 

April leans against the back of the sofa, laughing. "Yeah, I guess you have a point. Is it just you and your brothers? No other siblings?" 

Donnie's smile slips for a brief moment, and his eyes cloud. Before April can regret the question, he's smiling again, his expression haunted at the edges by a distant, soft melancholy. "I've...sort of got a sister. She's a little older. It's...it's weird. Not bad weird, just weird." He shakes himself, just as April pushes off the couch to reach him. What good her touch would do, though, she isn't sure; she just wants to help, however she can. "What about you?" Donnie asks, with a little forced brightness in his voice, just enough to tell April to let the subject go. "Any brothers or sisters?" 

"Nope, just me. Guess my mom and dad decided not to push their luck a second time." The joke falls flat to the carpet between them, and April looks away. "Irma's got a big family, though. I hang out with them a lot when I can't get up to see my parents on holidays." 

"You two have been friends a long time?" Donnie inches closer to the bookshelves, melancholy and self-consciousness falling off his shoulders as he runs his fingers along the spines — reverently, April notices, whether it's Irma's copy of _Watchmen_ or her copy of _Middlesex_. 

"As long as I can remember." April smiles, a simple, broad pleasure filling her as she watches Donnie moving around her apartment, mindful of his shell and heavy feet, strangely delicate for all his bulk. "My mom says Irma bit me on the first day of kindergarten when I wouldn't give her my scissors, but Irma's mom says I told her that orange crayons tasted like real oranges and Irma ate three of them before the teacher stopped her." 

Donnie snickers, tossing a wry glance at her over his shoulder. "Either way, a lifelong friendship was born." 

"Don't knock it," April says. "No one else can put up with me the way she can." She snatches a pillow off the couch and tosses it at him. Donnie spins, and catches the pillow with one quick snap of his fingers. The absolute precision startles April into silence; she's never seen anyone move so fast, or so silently, and her stomach flips. 

"Smooth," she says, when she finds her voice. 

"Practice makes perfect," he says, tossing it back to her. She fumbles the catch, her stomach still filled with strange, new flutters, but manages to get it back onto the couch without making herself look like more of an idiot. 

"Do you want to see my room?" she asks. "There's a little deck outside, so you can lie about constellations again." 

He scrunches up his nose — beak — at her, wrinkling his mask. "You mean, so you can demonstrate your ignorance again. I don't lie about science." 

"Yeah, yeah." April steps over a pile of empty pizza boxes — she and Irma turned into _slobs_ this summer, something they had better fix before one of their moms stops by unannounced — and grabs her doorknob. "Fair warning," she says. "My room's even messier than out here. I totally understand if you don't want to deal." 

"Three brothers," Donnie reminds her, smiling as he follows her. 

She flicks on the lamp next to her bed and sits down on the mattress, her heart picking up speed as Donnie peers at her desk, her bookshelves, and the dusty PS4 tucked halfway under her bed. At least all her dirty laundry is in the hamper. The thought of Donnie seeing her underwear — 

She can't finish the thought before her cheeks are flaming hot again. 

"Oh, no," he says out of nowhere, his voice low and disappointed. "I've got to go." 

"What?" April looks up, her stomach not flipping over any longer, but dropping straight to her feet. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" 

"You have an _iPod_ ," Donnie says, pointing at her desk. "I'm sorry, April, I can't do this. Apple products…my very DNA rebels." 

She gapes at him, struggling to figure out if he's joking or not, before Donnie bursts out laughing, bent over and holding his stomach. 

"Oh man, your face! I totally had you!" 

"You're —" April stutters, now caught between calling him an asshole or laughing along with him. "Jesus _Christ_ , you dick, you —" 

She shuts her mouth as he sits down next to her and wraps a heavy arm around her shoulders. "I'm kidding," he says. "I mean, not about hating Apple, but for you, I'll make an exception." 

"Wow, gee, _thanks_." She tries for sarcasm, but her voice comes out breathy, almost a whisper. Donnie is very close, and very tall, and so very earnest as he grins at her, self-consciousness forgotten. 

In the shared quiet, April feels them start to lean into each other. She wonders if this is how she'll get her first kiss, but Donnie starts and slowly pulls away. He offers her a sad, apologetic smile, and it's the roof all over again. Donnie doubting, Donnie leaving. 

"You don't have to —" she says, reaching up to trace her fingertips along the edge of his mask. Donnie shakes his head, his eyes downcast, and stands up. 

"I saw a — a record player in the other room," he says, wringing his hands. "Is it yours?" 

April takes a deep breath, her fingers still vibrating from the contact, and nods. "Uh, yeah. Irma and I collect vinyl. Most of it belonged to our parents, so it's a lot of old stuff, but we've got some good albums." She shoves down her frustration, knowing she doesn't have a reason to be frustrated, not if Donnie's worried about what she thinks he is. "You want me to put something on?" 

Donnie nods, not speaking, his eyes on her window. On her way back out to the living room, April rests her hand on his for a spare second, long enough to feel the restless, miserable motion stilling. "Any requests?" she says lightly, as her hand falls away. 

"Surprise me?" Donnie asks, a small, grateful smile on his face. 

"You got it." 

April crouches down to peer into the milk crate holding her half of the collection — Irma would murder her twice if she touched Irma's records without her permission — debating between indie rock, ironic eighties pop, or — 

— or one of her treasures. She slides the record out of the crate, grinning at the faded cover, and stands up. Better to know now how Donnie feels about the classics. 

She couldn't carry a tune if her life depended on it, so she keeps her mouth shut while Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young fills the apartment

_Come to me now, and rest your head for just five minutes_ , Graham Nash sings as she walks back into her room. This time, when her eyes meet Donnie's, neither of them look away. But she lingers in the doorway, just watching him, another wave of simple pleasure coursing through her. He's here, and he's not leaving. 

Such a strange certainty, after months of wishing and dreaming, to see Donnie here, and to know that she hadn't assumed too much about those first few hours. Everything she's heard has made it sound like finding this certainty is a long, hard journey, filled with stones to stumble over. It's supposed to be work. It's supposed to take a very long time. 

But sometimes, April thinks, as the song swells to the chorus, sometimes people luck out. She lives in a strange world, where ghosts might haunt libraries and aliens exist, and maybe, for her, for Donnie, it will just _work_. 

_Life used to be so hard, now everything is easy 'cause of you._  

This time, when she stands on tiptoe and reaches up for his mask, Donnie doesn't resist. April pauses before she touches him, waiting for his nod, and only undoes the knot when he smiles. She takes her time, holding his gaze as her fingers work, memorizing the worn fabric under her fingers. 

Donnie catches her wrist as the mask falls away from his face. He stares at the fabric, frowning, a dark tint in his cheeks, before he sighs and gives her a wry, resigned smile. 

"Uh. Ta-da?" he says, his voice hopeful. _Please_ , say his eyes. 

  _Yes,_ April thinks, and links her hands around the back of his neck to pull him down to her. 

His mouth is cool and still under hers; she's startled him with her clumsy, heavy kiss — but it's her first. She's given him that, and it's a small thing, but she knows, with her new certainty, that Donnie will understand. 

Is it his first kiss? She only wonders for a heartbeat, before his hands cover her shoulders slowly, gently. 

"I'm sorry, I just — you're so _cute,_ " she says when they part. "Donnie, you really — ah!" 

He beams at her as he lifts her, as easily as he carried her up the stairwell, only now her feet dangle almost a foot and a half off the ground. She clings close, her cheek pressed to his. 

"Always knew being tall would come in handy someday," he says breezily, as she laughs and kisses him again, his mask still clenched in her fist. 

***  

_Donatello Hamato, PhD Candidate_ says the neat sign on the office door. An equally neat schedule is posted underneath it, with a list of classes, office hours, and meeting times. April smiles at both sign and schedule before she knocks, her heart in her throat. 

It's been barely fifteen hours since she last saw him. Only six of those hours were actually used for sleeping — Irma's debrief took almost two hours, because Irma is nothing if not thorough — and then there were classes to attend, new friends to meet for coffee in the break between labs, a quick phone call to her parents, emailing work her schedule for the week.  

Now she's knocking on Donnie's office door, waiting for him to open the door and fill the doorframe with his shell and shoulders and smile at her. 

He will smile, won't he? 

_"So," said Donnie. He stood two steps lower than her, smiling down at their linked hands. "I had a great time."_

_April nodded. "Me too." She licked her lips, steeled herself, and said "Do you want to hang out tomorrow?" just as Donnie said "Are you free tomorrow night?"_

_Their laughter rose over the stoop and spread over the street, carried away by the humid, friendly breeze. "Yeah," said April. "I am. Seven?"_

_"Seven." Donnie kissed her — shyly, sweetly — one finger tilting her chin up to his. "I'll come pick you up."_

There hadn't been anything more than that. Donnie went down the stairs, swinging his satchel over his shoulder, and turned to wave before he disappeared around the corner. He smiled then; he'll smile when he opens the door. 

And so he does, grinning down at her — no bow tie or sweater vest today, just a half-zipped purple hoodie and a giant mug of coffee in his left hand. "April!" he says, like she's the best thing that could have shown up at his door, and her heart lurches. Only the coffee keeps her from throwing her arms around him. "I didn't expect to see you — wait, is everything okay?" 

His expression falls so quickly that April can hardly believe he had smiled a second before. His worry is so transparent: he thinks she's there to take it all back. Now she regrets not hugging him. 

"I know we said we'd hang out tonight," she says quickly. "But I wanted to see you." With a brief thought about how she should start investing in heels, she bounces to her toes and kisses his cheek. Donnie makes a startled, pleased noise, and sloshes coffee out of his mug, just barely missing spilling it on his hoodie. 

"Oh," he says, shuffling, blushing, so adorably flustered that April gives up on anything resembling restraint and kisses him on the lips, relishing how quickly he responds. 

At least they're both flushed and smiling when she rocks back on her feet. "Well, I — I'm not complaining," Donnie says, turning to set his mug on the edge of his desk. April catches a glimpse of a windowless but militantly neat office before Donnie leans against the doorframe. 

"I can't really do anything now," he says, eyes darkening with regret. "I've got office hours — I know it's early in the semester to start, but it's good to have a routine — and then I need to be in Stone's lab for a few hours, but I would totally come hang out if I could, I'm sorry, I just —" 

"Donnie, it's fine." April grabs his hand. "I only have a few minutes too, but I wanted to see if you could sign this form." She pushes the paper into his free hand, her heart lodged in her throat again as she watches him read. This could backfire, but she knows it won't. She _knows_. 

"This is a drop form for my lab," Donnie says slowly. 

"Yeah." April tilts her head at him when he looks up, and smiles, arching an eyebrow. Hopefully the effect is flirty, and not a grimace. "I don't think the department would approve of me dating my instructor." 

"Dating your —" Donnie stares at the form, his mouth doing something complicated that's almost a smile. A disbelieving, trembling smile. He takes a deep breath, and reaches back without looking to snatch a pen off his desk. "No, I don't think they would." 

His signature is barely better than a scribble, but April doesn't spare it a glance before she stuffs it in her backpack. "Okay," she says, exhaling noisily. "I should let you…do your thing. Till tonight." 

Donnie doesn't say anything. He nods, still smiling, and reaches out to tilt up her chin — just like last night, which means they're going to kiss again. April lets her eyes start to close before a voice fills the hallway. 

"Yo, genius! You forgot your lunch. Next time I'm not bringing it to — whoa, Donnie, what's goin' on?" 

She's close enough to see fear, real, honest _fear_ , flash through Donnie's eyes, then he straightens and faces toward the voice like a man heading to his execution. 

"Hi, Raph," he says flatly. "Thanks for bringing my lunch." 

"Oh, no," says the short turtle stomping toward them, his broad mouth stretched even broader in a grin that's the definition of _shit-stirring_. His green eyes glitter, utterly without mercy, and April takes an reflexive step closer to Donnie. "The pleasure's all mine. So let me guess —" 

"I swear to god, Raph." Donnie says through gritted teeth. "If you keep talking, I'll tell Casey about the pink —" 

"— this is the girl you moped over all summer?" Raph finishes, practically yelling to be heard over Donnie. 

April swallows her first question ( _Pink what?_ ) and looks up at Donnie. "Your brother?" 

Raph snorts laughter. "Yeah, I am. Don't let me stop the romance." He leans against the wall and folds bulky arms over his plastron. 

Donnie groans and smacks himself in the forehead. "This is a nightmare. April, I'm so sorry. I hoped I could avoid this for…well, forever, but this is Raph. My brother." 

Raph smiles. No doubt he's used to that smile making people go screaming into the night, but April's lived with Irma long enough to be immune. 

"Nice to meet you," she says, then turns her back on him and faces Donnie. "All summer?" she says. At Donnie's reluctant nod, she grabs his shoulders and pulls him down for a kiss. 

A _long_ kiss. With tongue. 

Raph gags extravagantly behind them, but April keeps kissing Donnie until she runs out of air, then lets him go. He stays curved over her, too stunned to smile or blush, so she kisses him again. 

"Sounds just like my summer," she says, just for him to hear. "Great minds think alike." 

Now Donnie laughs, wrapping long arms around her and drawing her tight against him. "Tonight? Seven?" he says. 

"Seven." There's time for one more kiss — there's always time for that — then April backs away, waving at Donnie until she has to turn around and head down the hall. 

She glances back once, just in time to see Raph punch Donnie in the arm, then high-five him, grinning like a maniac. Just in time to see Donnie smile, and to meet his eyes as he follows her path down the hall. 

_It really is going to be this easy_ , April realizes, and lets that thought carry her down the stairs and outside, into the sunlight. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this silly bit of fluff! <3


End file.
